Marvel's Agents of SANTA
by msdevindanielle
Summary: In light of recent events, Skye is determined that the team's Secret Santa exchange goes off without a hitch. But things don't always go as planned, and Fitz finds himself with more than one reason for not wanting to participate. Set after What We Become.


**A/N: **I originally wrote this for Tumblr user littlescienceloves in celebration of the AOS Exchange (without knowing her identity), but I'm so incredibly happy that I was given the honor of writing this for someone I already knew and followed - not to mention someone that I think is amazing. Happy holidays, sweetie! Hope you enjoy your gift. :)

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><p>Fitz pretended to busy himself with checking the lab inventory as he waited for Jemma to finish her examination. He knew Jemma had probably given him the task for more than one reason, to distract him from the growing pit in his stomach or to make him feel useful or something. Fitz hadn't argued with her, because he knew she was fighting back tears even more than he was. But as much as Fitz tried to focus on his work, he kept seeing that gaping hole, that pitch blackness that had swallowed too many people he cared about, the darkness that not everyone had returned from.<p>

He was thankful when he eventually heard the click of the small torch.

"Everything looks great," Jemma said a bit too brightly. "No broken bones, heart rate is perfectly normal, and your pupils are dilating properly, so no head injury either." She shook her head as she started to put away her supplies. "Honestly, you're very lucky, Mack. You fell over a hundred feet. I don't know how you managed to walk away from that, with barely anything to show for it." She paused near one of the cupboards, and though Fitz was on the other side of the room, he could see the strain in her expression as she turned around. "You say you don't remember much?"

Mack was leaned up against the lab bench, staring at an unfixed point as if he were trying to recall what had happened down in the tunnels. "No, man, it's all kind of a blur," he sighed, his shoulders slumping forward from exhaustion. "It's like I was there, but I wasn't really _there_, you know?" He laughed as he ran a hand over his face, but it was a humorless laugh, tinged with bitterness. "I mean, I know it sounds crazy-"

"Not at all," Jemma assured him, her eyes briefly traveling in Fitz's direction on her way to return to Mack. "Whatever happened, it's over now. We're just glad you're all right."

Mack glanced back and forth between Fitz and Jemma. "Yeah, uh…about that," he said tentatively. "I didn't get a chance to thank you guys for, uh…not giving up on me back there. It means a lot."

"We don't do that," Fitz replied before he could stop himself. He abandoned his feeble attempt at pretending to work and closed the lid of the D.W.A.R.F. case. "Um…give up on people, I mean," he clarified in a quiet voice, purposely glancing away from Jemma.

Mack grinned over at him. "That's good to know, Turbo," he chuckled, the dark flash in his eyes betraying his forced cheerfulness. "Although I gotta say, if I'd been in your shoes, I'd have run for the hills."

Fitz heard Jemma clear her throat, and he knew she was also trying to forget the thing that had come out of that tunnel. "I think you underestimate yourself," she said softly, giving Mack the smallest of smiles.

Just then, Skye popped her head in the lab's open doorway. "You guys almost ready?" she asked the three of them.

Fitz knew he probably shouldn't have been the one to speak up. After all, he was hardly the best with words anymore. But the utter sadness in Skye's expression, the sadness he could tell she was trying desperately to hide, made him dread the coming event more than he already had been.

"Skye, are you really sure this is such a-"

"We'll be right there," Jemma spoke over him loudly, a too-wide grin plastered on her face. Skye simply gave them a nod before disappearing down the corridor.

"Crap, I still haven't wrapped mine yet," Mack muttered, quickly making his way towards the bunks. "See you in a few," he called over his shoulder.

Jemma waited until he'd left before she turned to Fitz with wide eyes. "Don't you ruin this for her, Fitz," she scolded him, although her voice was gentle. "This is really important to her."

"I know, Jemma," Fitz sighed, glancing down at the floor. "I know, it's- it's not that, I just-"

"You had him, didn't you?" she whispered, placing a hand on his arm. Fitz looked up at her, only somewhat surprised at the touch. He didn't mind it, but he did mind the pity he saw in her eyes.

"Yeah," Fitz nodded, not wanting to dwell on the subject. "But I, uh…I'll be fine," he promised. He avoided her gaze again as he took a small step backward, and tried not to notice the way her hand slowly closed around the empty space he left behind. "I've just, um…I've just gotta grab something before I head down there," he explained hastily as he moved towards the doorway. He paused at the threshold, finally looking back at her. "Could…could you save me a seat?"

He knew the question was probably unnecessary, considering it'd hardly be likely that he'd be left without a seat. But as difficult as talking to Jemma had been recently, he still knew when she was in pain, and he still knew that feeling like she was needed would help, if only a little. She smiled at him sadly, like she knew what he was doing. "Of course," she whispered.

Fitz tried to drudge up a smile in return, even though he knew she wouldn't buy it. Thankfully he actually did have things to take care of, so he didn't remain in the doorway for too long. He took off in the direction of the bunks, making a stop in the kitchen where Skye had stashed all the wrapping supplies. He grabbed a roll of paper and tape (he could forgo trying to find a pair of scissors), and before he could talk himself out of it, he went downstairs and quietly entered the abandoned room.

A lot had happened since they'd returned from San Juan, and Coulson hadn't had a chance to delegate the task of gathering everything together. It would have to happen soon, though. And as much as Fitz hated himself for it, he hoped he wouldn't be the one that had to do it.

He remained focused on the mission ahead of him, trying not to let his gaze linger on the framed photographs or the old memorabilia lining the shelves. Instead he headed to the wardrobe and dug through the back, eventually finding what he was looking for. It didn't take him too much time to wrap (even with his shaky hands he was still probably the fastest wrapper on the base), but every second he remained in that room was a second too long.

When it was finished, he exited the room, making sure to shut the door carefully behind him. By the time he entered the Playground's recreation room, everyone was already gathered around, but no one seemed particularly bothered by his tardiness. In fact, mostly everyone seemed in generally good spirits, although Fitz mostly figured it was for Skye's sake than anything else.

Fitz set the gift in front of their pathetic-looking Christmas tree (Trip and Skye had shot death glares at anyone with the nerve to make fun of it if they hadn't helped), and took his spot next to Jemma on the sofa. On the other side of Jemma, Skye leaned forward and began passing around the eight glasses of what Fitz assumed was spiked eggnog.

"I know none of us really want to do this right now," she announced, walking over to the tree with her glass and addressing the group. "But I think we all know who would be super pissed if we didn't." She took a shaky breath, like she'd planned out what she was going to say beforehand but was finding it difficult to get the words out.

"Trip is…" Her voice hitched, and she stared down at the glass in her hands as if she wanted to down it then and there. "Trip _was_…really into Christmas. Like, _really_ into it, and all the traditions that go with it or whatever." She laughed, shaking her head. "I kept telling him that we're basically fugitives and finding time to celebrate anything at all would be damn near impossible. But…he didn't give up, said something really corny about finding the bright side or defeating HYDRA with our cheer." Fitz didn't think he actually smiled, but he noticed a lot of wistful expressions around the room. Skye looked like she wanted to get out of the spotlight soon, though. "So for someone that went to that much trouble to get us all on board, the least we can do is go through with it, right?"

She held out her drink. "To Trip," she finished.

"To Trip," the rest of them chimed in, some more loudly than others. Fitz drained his glass in nearly one swig, and next to him he heard Jemma coughing quietly.

"That's bloody awful," she murmured under her breath. And maybe it was the alcohol or the circumstances or the habit of always finishing the drinks she didn't like, but before Fitz could think about it he took the glass from her hands and downed the rest of it. Jemma didn't seem particularly surprised by his actions, but she must have remembered his situation, because he thought she leaned against him a bit more than she had a moment before. It didn't help the pit in his stomach. It didn't make him forget why he didn't want to be there. But he still appreciated the gesture. He had a feeling he would need her calming presence once it became his turn.

Skye was busy arranging the rest of the liquor bottles on the center table. "Okay, we've all agreed that the person Trip had would get the first shots when we're done, and then everyone else can have at it afterwards." She turned around and picked up one of the bags by the tree. "I guess since I'm already up here, I'll just…go first."

She plopped back down on the sofa and turned to Jemma. "Merry Christmas, Simmons," she smiled, depositing the gift in Jemma's lap.

"For me?" Jemma asked in surprise, and Fitz bit back his sarcastic comments. It was on her lap. Of course it was for her. But Jemma always felt uncomfortable opening gifts in front of others, so he supposed her reaction came more from the unwillingness to go first than anything else.

"Yep," Skye nodded, seemingly not bothered by the obvious question. In fact, if Fitz hadn't known better, he might have thought Skye even looked a little anxious. But his focus was redirected to the object Jemma removed from the bag.

"Oh, Skye," she breathed, her lips curling upwards. "It's wonderful. I absolutely love it."

Skye's mouth hung open. "You're serious," she remarked in disbelief, probably because Jemma was actually telling the truth.

Fitz looked over Jemma's arm and read the inscription on the gift. "Do you even know what you've done, Skye?" he groaned, leaning back into the sofa and rubbing his eyelids. "She won't use another tea mug for _weeks_. Plus expect to hear her say that twice a day for at least a year."

"No way," Skye replied, looking between the two of them like she was waiting for the punch line. "_Simmons_?"

By this time everyone in the room was curious to see what was on Jemma's new tea mug. "There's no need to sound so surprised, Skye," Jemma scoffed, turning the cup so everyone could read it. Fitz had to admit that despite his dread he nearly burst out laughing at Coulson's practically scandalized expression.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna have to ban that phrase from…_ever_ being uttered on this base."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "Sir, please," she said in mild exasperation. "We're all adults here. Besides, it's much more tasteful than that terrible mug with the grumpy-looking cat."

"The 'I Hate Mondays' one?" Hunter asked in an offended voice. "That's a classic. Probably one of the greatest mugs to ever exist."

"I beg to differ," Jemma smiled, holding up the one in her hands.

"Okay," Skye laughed. "Well now that we know that Jemma 'can't be a part of your bad-girl shenanigans' Simmons has a secret potty mouth-"

"Not so secret, actually," Fitz muttered, vaguely wondering how Skye hadn't stumbled upon that part of Jemma yet.

"That one was just a gag present," Skye explained, shooting Fitz a look that he didn't really understand but knew meant for him to shut up. He closed his mouth, finding that he oddly didn't mind this time. It was such a Skye thing for her to do, something that she'd been less inclined to do since his accident, that for a moment it felt like things had returned to normal. He tried to hold onto the moment, knowing it would disappear all too quickly.

"There's something else at the bottom," Skye finished, and Fitz was surprised to notice her nervously scratching the back of her head. "I mean, it's not much, but I just…well, they're kind of my thing 'cause I used to collect a bunch of odds and ends when I was growing up and make stuff out of 'em."

Jemma was rummaging near the bottom of the bag, but eventually she found what Skye was talking about. When she removed her arm, there were two small identical bracelets in her palm.

"And I know you're September," Skye said, pointing to one of the charms that dangled from each of the bracelets, a blue stone that hung next to a silver pair of angel wings. "They're not, like, real sapphires or anything, but I just thought since it's a gem and you're Jemma, that one's you. And then the wings were all I had to do with the sky, or…whatever, and oh my God this is…this is really lame." She winced as she studied Jemma's profile. "It's lame, isn't it?"

Jemma had been staring at the bracelets in her hand, but she finally glanced over at Skye. Fitz didn't need to see her face to know she probably had tears in her eyes. "You made me a friendship bracelet, Skye?" she asked in a near whisper.

Skye's cheeks turned red. "I knew it was dumb," she muttered, shaking her head. "I'm sorry, I'll-"

But she didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, because just at that moment Jemma leaned over and wrapped her arms around Skye. It took a few seconds of surprise for Skye to return the embrace, but Fitz could see the doubt in her eyes as she looked at him over Jemma's shoulder. He tried to give her a smile to let her know she'd hit the mark. Because even though Jemma didn't own a lot of jewelry, even though she found bracelets cumbersome to wear (an occupational hazard but also a natural preference), he knew that this would be something she would treasure dearly. In fact, he wouldn't be shocked if she ended up wearing it as often as she could outside of the lab.

"You really like it?" Skye asked as she pulled away. "'Cause it's totally okay if you don't, Simmons."

"No, no, I love it," Jemma assured her with a small laugh, running a hand under one of her eyes. "Really." She held out her palm. "One of them is for you, right? So we match?"

"Okay, _that_," Bobbi piped up from her armchair, "is just adorable."

Both Skye and Jemma laughed as they put on the bracelets, and Coulson got up from his seat. "Yeah, I gotta get this one," he grimaced, pulling out his phone. "Sorry."

"Coulson!" Skye argued, waving her hand at him. "We all said no pictures."

"Director's vote trumps all," he replied as he held the phone in front of him. "Now, come on, guys. We need to document some of the good stuff around here." He sighed as he took in the girls' unenthusiastic expressions. "Could you just smile please? You too, Fitz."

Fitz tried to lean as far away from the camera as possible, but Jemma linked her arm with his and pulled him to her side. He kept his grumblings to himself, and even though he didn't smile, he actually did try not to scowl. But that was until he realized Coulson had no idea what he was doing.

"Damn it," Coulson muttered, inspecting the phone. "Didn't have the flash on."

"_Oh, my God_," Skye groaned, and a few other brave individuals joined in with her as she made fun of their technologically challenged director.

"Why is it so dark?" Coulson asked, almost to himself as he ignored their taunts. "We really need to think about getting some more lamps down here or something." He held up the phone again. "Okay, I've got it now. _Everyone_ smile this time. Fitz."

Fitz tried to arrange his face in a manner that satisfied Coulson without having to actually smile. He wasn't sure if he was particularly successful, but Coulson eventually returned to his seat, and Jemma eventually removed her arm from his.

"I suppose it's my turn now, yeah?" she sighed, briefly glancing around the room in case anyone wanted to contradict her. Fitz hid his amusement, knowing Jemma was a bit nervous about her gift. Despite Trip having sworn everyone to secrecy, Fitz had oddly been sought out by most of them for his expertise or advice. He hadn't been much help to Jemma, but he'd noticed her slaving away in the lab, hard at work to create the perfect thing. And even if she hadn't told him, he would've known the person she'd picked out of the hat by the look on her face alone. It was hands down the person everyone had secretly hoped they wouldn't get.

Fitz could count on one hand all the times he'd seen May smile. This wasn't one of those times, but it was pretty close.

Jemma's behavior as May unwrapped the flowery tin was nearly identical to what Skye's had been a moment earlier. She wrung her hands together and started to ramble, hovering awkwardly near May's chair. "The leaves are from _Camellia sinensis_, which are typically the leaves found in green tea, only I've added a bit more theanine and theobromine to mute the effects of the caffeine reaction," she explained. May lifted open the lid and inspected the contents while Jemma continued. "The polyphenols help the body to absorb the chemicals in such a way that improves mental alertness without the crash later. My mum used to brew it for me when I had to stay awake later for homework, but I've also read that it can work synergistically with tai chi to enhance bone strength. In fact, I have the articles if you-"

May reached out to briefly squeeze Jemma's hand, probably the most affectionate gesture Fitz had ever seen her give. "That won't be necessary, Simmons," she said, conveying the implicit trust she had that whatever Jemma had created would have its intended effect. "Thank you."

Jemma nodded. "Yes, well…" she said uncertainly, a blush on her cheeks as she headed back to her seat. Fitz almost nudged her, but simply raised his eyebrows instead. She gave him a subtle shake of her head, like she was silently begging for someone to take the attention away from her.

May was still inspecting the tea leaves. "The small red one is yours, Coulson," she announced casually as she placed the lid back on the tin.

Coulson practically jumped out of his seat to retrieve the package underneath the tree, and Fitz was baffled to see an excited grin on his face. He supposed May did know Coulson better than anyone else, so technically she would know exactly what to get him. And Fitz knew before he'd finished unwrapping the box that Coulson's expectations would not be disappointed, because May herself had actually been one of the few that had come to Fitz for help.

It'd been late one evening in the lab, after mostly everyone had left for the night. He'd been surprised when all of a sudden May had been standing right in front of his bench, having made absolutely no sound when she'd come in.

"Do you have anything that could be used to clean this?" she'd asked in a low voice, placing the object on the bench surface.

Fitz's eyes had widened as he'd recognized the object, and he'd carefully lifted it up to inspect the damage (after asking for permission, of course). "Er…yeah, I-I think we might have stuff in the back," he'd nodded. "It's still in working order, so it shouldn't take me more than an hour, I think. When do you need it by?"

"Actually…could you show me how to do it?" she'd asked, surprising him for probably the fifth time in under a minute.

"Uh…y-yeah," he'd stammered. "Yeah, uh…come here, I'll just…show you where we keep all the…"

He'd led her to the back of the lab, where he'd shown her the chemicals she'd need to clean the object, as well as the tools that would work best for the task. And for the next couple of hours or so, he'd continued with his work on one end of the room while May had meticulously worked on the other, only stopping once or twice to ask him whether she'd been doing the right thing. It'd been such a bizarre night for Fitz, and after she'd left, leaving behind a pristine workstation, he'd almost convinced himself it hadn't actually happened.

But as Coulson stared in dumbfounded silence at the opened box in his hands, Fitz knew that as bizarre as it had been, it hadn't been some weird dream. Coulson finally looked up at May, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finding his words.

"They only made thirty of these," he whispered in shock. "They weren't even standard S.S.R. issue. _Where did you get this, May_?"

May simply gave him a smirk. "Check the back," she told him, nodding towards the box.

Coulson glanced between the gift and May a few times, his face growing even paler. It took him probably a full ten seconds to extract the golden pocket watch from the box, and he held it in his hands almost reverently as he turned it over.

His jaw dropped. "You _engraved_ an Omega Swiss forty-five with fourteen-karat-gold casing?" he cried in disbelief. "What were you _thinking_, May?"

Fitz briefly wondered why Coulson would care more about the gold than the fact that the watch was rigged with explosives. But his main interest was in seeing the director's reaction when he figured out the truth.

"Of course I didn't," May replied with a sigh, her face devoid of amusement. "You don't think I know better?"

Coulson scoffed, holding out an open hand like he couldn't properly express how concerned he was. "What, you just…you expect me to believe that the original owner of this watch just _happened_ to have the same initials as I do?"

May's expression didn't change. "Yes."

If anything, Coulson looked even more baffled than before. "What?" he muttered, staring at down at the watch. "I don't…oh," he breathed, covering his mouth with one hand. "_Oh_."

"Wait, wait, wait," Jemma interrupted, and Fitz supposed he should've known this was coming. She stared at Coulson's hands with a gleeful grin on her face. "Are you saying that _that_ pocket watch," she said, pointing to the object, "used to belong to _Peggy Carter_?"

May was smirking again. "Turns out Agent Carter left a lot of stuff down here," she shrugged. "But she'd want you to have it, Coulson."

Coulson continued to stare at the watch in open-mouthed astonishment, and the moment stretched out for so long that eventually Skye cleared her throat loudly.

"Okay, well, you can fanboy over your new antique all night," she reasoned, sounding somewhat annoyed. "_After_ everyone else gets their presents." The director appeared to be in his own little world, though, and Fitz found himself wishing that Skye wouldn't be so impatient. "_Coulson_," Skye repeated. "It's your turn."

Without looking up from the watch, Coulson reached into his jacket pocket and tossed something over to the other side of the room. Mack caught the set of keys reflexively, but it took him a few seconds to process what had just happened. "Sir," he said cautiously. "You don't mean…"

"Yeah, I've put you through enough hell, Mack," Coulson murmured, his eyes still transfixed on the watch. "You've earned it."

The smile on Mack's face was wider than Fitz had seen in a long time. "I'll take good care of her, sir," he promised. "You won't even see a scratch on her when I'm done."

Coulson finally glanced up from his gift. "I'm gonna hold you to that," he said solemnly.

But Fitz didn't think anything could take away from Mack's satisfaction at the prospect of getting to work on Lola. "Understood, sir," he grinned, reaching over to grab one of the remaining boxes under the tree and passing it to Bobbi.

"Uh oh," she said, her lips curling upwards as she tore off the paper. She seemed to already know what was going to be in the box, but she still let out a laugh after she lifted up the corners. "Oh, my God, Mack. You didn't."

"I told you I would, didn't I?" Mack chuckled.

Bobbi shook her head, smiling at the contents of the box in her lap. "I didn't think you'd actually do it."

"Do what?" Hunter murmured, leaning over in his chair to see what she'd gotten. "Martini glasses?" he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow at her. "Don't you have plenty of those already?"

"Yeah," Bobbi replied with forced patience before holding up one of the glasses. "But do any of them say 'she-devil' on the side? Or have a picture of a lovely lady with horns on her…" She turned the glass over in her hands and inspected the image more closely. "Holy crap, Mack," she laughed in astonishment. "Is that supposed to be me?"

Mack smiled at her. "Yeah, I thought you'd like that."

"This is amazing," she marveled, shaking her head again. "Some of your best work yet, I think."

Hunter leaned back in his seat, muttering something under his breath as he took a sip out of the beer bottle that had somehow found its way into his hands. The only thing Fitz managed to catch amongst the stream of mumbling was, "Couple of weirdos."

Bobbi was still grinning when she passed another small box over to him. "Here you go, weirdo."

Hunter set aside his beer, a look of pure terror flashing across his face. He took longer than was probably necessary to unwrap the gift in front of him, eventually going faster once everyone started yelling at him to get on with it. He lifted the lid a fraction of an inch to peek inside, and immediately slammed it down.

"_Barbara Ann_, for God's sake," he hissed, looking horrified as he glanced over at Bobbi, who along with Mack was inexplicably doubled over laughing. "It's _Christmas_. What kind of person thinks this would be socially acceptable to give to someone - at a _work_ function, mind you - in the celebration of the _birth of_ _baby Jesus_?"

Bobbi's laughter had died down during Hunter's tirade. "Well, I _am_ a demonic hell-beast, remember?" she smirked.

Hunter leaned over the box. "Idaho would be absolutely mortified."

Bobbi's mouth hung open. "Idaho would have _picked it out himself_," she argued, leaning forward to create an almost mirror image between the two of them.

"Oh, bloody hell," Hunter muttered, shoving the box underneath his chair.

"No, we all have to see what it is now," Skye protested. Even though Fitz wasn't all that curious, he was in favor of anything that would prolong his inevitable task.

"Oh, no, no, no," Hunter replied, shaking his head vigorously. "That thing will never see the light of day." He quickly got up to grab one of the last boxes under the tree and tossed it to Fitz. "Cheers, mate."

Fitz barely registered unwrapping the gift, his thoughts too preoccupied with what would happen afterwards. But as soon as his eyes fell on the red material, he managed to forget his predicament for long enough to glare at Hunter. "You're joking."

Hunter looked like he was going to say something sarcastic, but he must have changed his mind. "Yeah, I am, actually," he admitted with a smile. "That one's mine." He reached over to grab the English football jersey, lifting it up to reveal the navy blue one underneath. "_That_ one's yours."

"Wow, Fitz," Jemma remarked, and he could hear the amusement in her voice. "That was really nice of him."

"I'm surprised you didn't have one already, actually," Hunter shrugged.

"Yeah, well, I've known this one for over ten years, and she's never gotten it for me, no matter how many times I've asked." Fitz was a bit startled at the words that had tumbled out of his mouth, but thankfully Jemma didn't seem to care.

"That'd be because it'd have to be over my dead body," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness.

Hunter held up his hands. "Hey, I'm all in favor of a good old-fashioned healthy competition between our homelands," he laughed. "Even though we all know who's gonna come out on top."

Fitz was examining the jersey over his torso, but he narrowed his eyes at Hunter. "Oh, really?" he asked. "And what makes you so bloody sure about that?"

"You can't argue with history, mate," Hunter grimaced. "And historically, England has _always_-"

"Well, I'll have _you_ know that-"

"_Okay_, you guys," Skye interrupted, reaching a hand behind Jemma to tap Fitz on the shoulder. "We're almost done and then you can argue about your beloved soccer 'til kingdom come. You know the drill, Fitz."

And just like that, Fitz's brief moment of contentment disappeared. Because Skye was looking at him expectantly, and he knew what was coming, and it killed him that he had to be the one to take her hope away. Jemma gently took the box from his grasp, momentarily wrapping her hand around his arm before he stood up to retrieve the last remaining present.

He drummed his fingers over the paper, exhaling slowly as he made his way to Skye's other side. Jemma must have known what he was going to do, because she moved over on the sofa, pulling Skye so that she was now in the middle.

Skye smiled at him teasingly as he sat down next to her. "What'd you get me, Fitz?" she asked, nudging his arm with hers.

Fitz knew he hesitated too long, because her smile quickly faded. "I, um…I didn't have you, Skye," he said quietly. Though no one had been speaking, the silence in the room screamed in his ears. He couldn't bear to look at her, couldn't stand to see the endless pain on her face, but he didn't want to look at anyone else either. So he spoke to his hands instead, which were gripping the edges of the present.

"I had Trip, actually," he explained, the words coming out in a rush. "And I was…I was working on some of his granddad's equipment, modifying the quarter walkie-talkies that got damaged to have a larger range on the homing beacon and improve the communication but also hold up under x-ray, and none of this is the point." He took another deep breath, steeling himself before looking up at Skye. Her tears hadn't spilled over yet, but the small wobble in her chin broke his heart anyway.

"The point is that Trip actually asked me for help on your gift," he told her softly, trying to ignore everyone else and focus on Skye. He wasn't sure why, but under the circumstances he suddenly regretted not pulling her aside sooner. He couldn't back out now, though. He'd been given a responsibility, whether he wanted it or not.

"Well, he didn't actually _say_ it was for your Secret Santa, but it wasn't that hard to figure out. Anyway, he knew that when you erased everything on us, you got rid of most of the pictures. And I don't think I managed to recover all of 'em, but I got a lot off of the old hard drive and from the backlogged files on Simmons's phone, and, um…yeah. I guess Trip just wanted you to have something of your own…" Fitz let his voice trail off, knowing he wouldn't be able to say anything more, and handed the gift over to her.

Skye placed the present in her lap, taking a shuddering breath before carefully tearing the paper off. It took her a few tries to get underneath the crease, since her hands were trembling so much, but eventually the wrapping floated to her feet, leaving behind the small corkboard that Trip had put together. The entire thing was covered with photos of the whole team, some old, some recent, all of them with Skye as their common factor. There was a photo from their first mission in Peru, in front of the gaping hole in their plane. There was one of her with Jemma and Fitz in the back of the Short Bus, laughing about something or other. There were photos from their brief trip to the Academy, taken by the poolside of the motel they'd stayed at, of Skye showing off her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge next to Coulson. There were photos of her and Trip doing silly dances to pop songs. There was a photo of Skye flanked by the Koenig brothers. There was even a rare shot of her meditating with May (Trip must have gone deep undercover to take that one). There were also little pieces of paper pinned throughout the collage, some obviously from fortune cookies while others contained sayings or platitudes Trip had written himself (or got from his grandmother, more likely).

But while Skye studied the assembly in front of her, Fitz noticed her gaze travel to the top of the border. She breathed in sharply, her fingertips tracing along the two simple words Trip had carved into the wood: Skye's Family.

The tears were flowing freely now, and Skye started shaking her head almost frantically, as if she was desperately trying to calm herself down. She was murmuring something, too, something Fitz couldn't quite make out, but it didn't take long for him to understand. There was a small tremor below his feet, barely noticeable, and nothing that would've bothered him under any normal circumstances.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

Skye's voice grew louder, but he already knew the words she was saying. "Everyone get out now," she ordered. She had her eyes shut tightly, the tears continuing to stream down her face.

Behind him, Fitz heard some of the group head upstairs to initiate the evacuation protocol. But he remained next to Skye, taking one of her hands in his own, and on her opposite side he saw Jemma take the other.

"No," Skye sobbed, weakly resisting their grasps. "No, you have to leave-"

"We're not leaving, Skye," Jemma said firmly, using her free hand to brush some of Skye's hair behind her ear.

Skye continued to shake her head. "I…I told you it was a bad idea, Coulson," she said in between heaving breaths. Fitz tried not to notice the Christmas tree slightly moving in the corner. "The base is freaking _underground_."

Coulson was standing behind the sofa, his hands resting on Skye's shoulders. "Just try and relax," he said, his voice conveying a calmness that his tense posture contradicted. "It'll pass."

"But I have to-"

"It's just like before," May insisted, kneeling in front of her after setting aside Trip's gift. "It's all about control. Control over the _mind_ and the body. You've done it before. You can do it again."

"No," Skye protested, keeping her eyes closed. "No, it's _not the same_ _thing_, May. I don't know…I don't know how to…I can't," she finished, overcome with another sob. One of the light fixtures above their heads began to swing back and forth.

"_Yes_, you can, Skye," May replied, stepping forward so she could place one hand on either side of Skye's face. Skye finally opened her eyes, probably surprised by the unfamiliar touch, and May repeated her words. "Yes. You. Can."

It didn't happen right away, but after a few long seconds Fitz noticed a change. The tears were the first to stop, although Skye still continued to gasp for air as she struggled to regain control of her breathing. The large vibrations dissipated rather quickly, much to all of their relief. But Fitz became hyperaware of the small tremors beneath his feet until they'd vanished as well. And through it all, the four of them surrounded Skye like an impenetrable defense line, as if by their presence alone they could shield her from herself. Fitz met Jemma's eyes across the sofa, and even though she didn't say anything, he could tell she was barely holding it together, too.

As experienced as they were with gifteds, neither of them had a clue of what had happened down in the ancient city in Puerto Rico. And neither of them knew how to help Skye, or to make sense of the new abilities she'd somehow acquired. But as he locked eyes with Jemma just then, Fitz also knew that this was their priority now. Skye was their friend, their family. They would do whatever it took to help her. It wasn't even a question, really.

Fitz didn't realize he'd lost feeling in his hand until Skye released her grip on him. He barely registered it, though, more concerned with the trembling in her shoulders as she rested her head in her hands. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

Jemma began tracing circles on Skye's back. "There's no need to apologize, Skye," she murmured. "Everyone's all right. No one got hurt."

Skye dropped her hands in annoyance. "And how long do you think that'll last, Simmons?" she asked bitterly. "Someone's gonna get hurt eventually, okay? I mean, for God's sake, Trip already-"

"That was not you," May spoke up before Skye could finish. "Don't you dare put that on yourself." She glanced over at Jemma, who gave her a subtle nod. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Skye closed her mouth, even though Fitz could tell she didn't fully believe May's words. He didn't know exactly what had happened in that temple, but Fitz had a feeling he understood where she was coming from. He didn't think he could ever forgive himself for not doing enough to stop Trip either, and he hadn't even been the one to watch him die as he'd gained unfamiliar powers. Of course, Fitz would never blame Skye. Trip had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. But Fitz also knew that it'd be a long time before Skye began to see her abilities as anything but a burden, a constant reminder of what she'd lost.

That was the worst part, he supposed. The rest of them could grieve privately, in the darkness of their own bunks or by channeling their frustration into their work. Skye didn't have that option anymore. Skye's grief was on display for the whole world to see.

She didn't resist May or Jemma as they helped her off the sofa and led her towards the bunks. As soon as they were out of earshot, Fitz heard Coulson murmur, "What was that?"

Fitz grabbed the tablet he'd placed on one of the tables and opened up the program he'd set up as soon as they'd returned from San Juan. "That was, um…" he said quietly, examining the information. "Fifty-three point seven gigajoules. So that'd be...er…that'd be a little less than four on the Richter scale, I think."

Coulson sighed, giving Fitz a look of mild alarm. "That's getting up there."

Fitz shook his head. "No, the one before was much bigger," he reasoned, remembering how the earthquake in San Juan had nearly collapsed a cave on him and Jemma. "Besides, the Playground isn't over any major fault lines. I think whatever we just saw is gonna be the worst of it here."

"All right," Coulson conceded, looking exhausted. "Well, you're keeping an eye on it, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he replied, walking around the sofa to pick up the abandoned pocket watch. "I'm gonna go give the all-clear. Get some rest, Fitz. And send those specs for the quarter walkie-talkies over to my office in the morning. I'll see if we can work on getting 'em distributed."

Coulson disappeared down the hallway, saving Fitz from having to respond. Normally he might have felt some sort of satisfaction that his work would be appreciated. But right now he just felt sick to his stomach. He didn't want to think about the gift he'd been working on for Trip. He didn't want to think about how what had just happened with Skye had terrified him. He didn't want to think about anything, really. But he knew without a doubt that he wouldn't be able to rest anytime soon.

Eventually Fitz found his way to his bunk. And perhaps it was a bit hopeful of him, but he left the door cracked open slightly, just in case. Sure enough, after about half an hour, he heard a light knock.

"Mind if I come in?"

Fitz sat up on the bed. "How is she?"

Jemma sighed, but she gave him a smile. "Fast asleep now," she said, her shoulders sinking from fatigue. In fact, she was so tired that she'd already sat down next to him before she seemed to remember the recent awkwardness between them. "Oh, is it-"

"It's fine, Jemma," Fitz assured her wearily. He really didn't want to argue with her. Not tonight. Not ever, really. But especially not tonight. "Did you give her something to help?"

Jemma shook her head. "No, I didn't want to chance it, not when I don't know if her body will respond negatively. I don't…I don't know what to do, Fitz," she whispered, and Fitz was alarmed to see tears in her eyes. "I don't know how to help her."

"Hey, you'll figure it out, like you always do," Fitz said gently, using all of his self-control not to touch her. He knew from experience that if he breached that barrier, Jemma would probably break down even further. As much progress as they'd made over the past few days, Fitz wasn't quite sure if he was ready for that just yet. "We'll figure it out."

She looked over at him, quietly laughing through her tears. "Oh, will we, now?" she scoffed. "I thought you said you were going to work in the garage with Mack."

She'd said the words teasingly, but Fitz could hear the bitterness underneath. "And I also said I'd work for you, Jemma," he reminded her. "Just tell me what you need, and I'll do it."

"Do you realize how ridiculous you sound?" Jemma asked him incredulously. "We've _always_ been smarter together, Fitz, and that hasn't changed one bit. Working for me is just as ridiculous a notion as the notion of-"

"Jemma, can we not do this right now?" Fitz pleaded, starting to get overwhelmed by the weight of everything she was saying on top of all they'd gone through that night. "It's Christmas."

Jemma's earlier arguments died on her lips. "A couple weeks shy, Fitz," she smirked.

"Well, I hardly think we'll have time for a holiday after tonight, so I say it's Christmas."

There was a comfortable pause, and as Fitz stared down at his hands he supposed it was probably the best time for him to tell her. "Listen, Jemma-"

"Don't worry about it, Fitz," she dismissed. "I didn't have a chance to get you anything either."

"Oh," Fitz nodded absently. "Well, I just, um…I just felt bad, I guess, since it's kind of tradition, isn't it?"

He knew as soon as he'd said the words what her reaction would be. "You want to talk about tradition?" she asked him with a wry smile.

Fitz winced. "Okay, I-I deserved that," he admitted. "But all the same-"

"Look, Fitz," Jemma interrupted, glancing down at the bed where she was playing with a loose thread in the duvet. "I never cared about the gifts. You know that, right?" She looked back up at him, and Fitz didn't quite understand the nervous expression on her face. "The only tradition I cared about was...was that we were together." She tilted her head to the side, looking deep in thought. "Although now I suppose I should add being alive. That's a tradition I'd quite like to keep going, actually."

Despite himself, Fitz felt a smile on his lips. "You, uh…you didn't care about the presents?" he asked, pointing vaguely to the chain around her neck. "Not even a little?"

Jemma reached a hand up to touch the small pendant, as if she'd forgotten she'd been wearing it. "Sometimes where the present comes from holds more value than the present itself," she said softly.

Fitz glanced away, unsure why he felt his cheeks burning. He'd made the necklace for her back at the Academy, during one of their first birthdays or Christmases together. She'd pointed out a similar chain in a shop window one day, just in passing admiration or something, hardly in a manner that suggested she'd expected him to get it for her. At the time, though, Fitz had been desperate for an idea of what to get her, having had minimal experience of buying gifts for women other than his mother, so Jemma's comment had driven him to return to the shop later that week. The necklace in question had been woefully out of his price range, but he'd managed to sketch the design and recreate the rose using his own material, material that had actually been left over from their first project together. It hadn't been perfect, but she'd seemed to like it at the time, and even now Fitz hardly saw her wear any other necklace in its place. He'd never told her that he'd made it, because he hadn't wanted her to know he couldn't afford the original. But the words she'd just said and the way she was smiling at him now told Fitz that she probably knew more of the truth than she let on.

Fitz looked at his watch, wracking his brain for a change in subject. "Wait, hang on," he murmured, leaning over to retrieve the tablet on his bedside table. "It's Saturday night, isn't it?"

"Um, yeah, I think so," Jemma replied. "Why?"

Fitz pulled up the weather and showed her the screen. "Clear skies."

Her face lit up as she glanced at her own watch. "The moon's not risen yet, has it?" she asked, standing up.

"No, not for another hour."

"Okay, I'll go grab my coat," she said, sounding more excited than he'd heard her sound in a long time. "Meet you on the hangar roof."

Fitz hurriedly gathered as many blankets as he could find, and five minutes later he and Jemma were on the open rooftop of the base, stacking the warm covers so they could comfortably lean back and watch the sky. Thankfully the cold wasn't too bad, but Jemma still huddled close enough to Fitz that he could feel her warmth on his side.

"This is a Geminid shower, yeah?" she asked as soon as they saw the first meteor.

"Yeah, the, um…the Leonid shower was last month."

"Oh, is that right?" she murmured. "Shame we missed that one."

"No, the Geminids tend to be brighter anyway."

"I meant because-"

"Yeah, I know what you meant, Jemma," he assured her, weakly rolled his eyes. "It's fine."

They fell silent after that, but it wasn't uncomfortable. The meteors began flying across the stars more frequently now, and Fitz had to admit that their current view was probably one of the best they'd ever had. He supposed there were quite a lot of advantages with the secluded nature of the base. But being far enough away from the city, the darkness of the Playground's roof was the perfect spot for looking at the stars.

At one point, Jemma turned her head to look at him. "Do you think you could…"

Fitz smiled. "Which one do you wanna hear this time?"

She let out a small laugh before glancing back up at the sky, and Fitz thought she moved just a little bit closer to him. "Oh, whichever you prefer, I don't really mind."

"Don't pretend you don't have a favorite, Jemma," Fitz admonished her.

"Nonsense, I don't have a-"

"Yes, you do."

She hit his arm playfully. "Fine, then, you can tell the story of Leo. I told you, I don't care."

"No, it's the Geminid shower," he relented, secretly liking that story better anyway. "I can do Gemini. But it, um…" He hesitated, realizing that this time was quite different than the others. "The words, they might take me some time to-"

"We've got time, Fitz," she told him quietly, linking her arm with his.

Fitz tried to gather his thoughts together, focusing on the constellations above his head. The meteors were brighter than he'd ever seen them, and in the end they gave him the extra boost of confidence he needed (although Jemma huddled close to him for warmth didn't hurt). "Once upon a time Zeus decided to seduce Leda by turning himself into a swan, because as we all know the best way to attract a lady is to become a bird…"

Fitz continued the story of the Gemini twins, adding a few of his own embellishments as he felt inclined. Sometime in the middle, Jemma drifted off, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. Fitz kept talking, though, partly for her sake in case she woke up and partly because telling the story again reminded him of a simpler time. It was hard for him to believe that there had been a time when he and Jemma had never had to worry about life and death, when they'd simply been able to watch a meteor shower together for fun instead of as a way to escape the burdens of their current circumstances. It was hard for him to believe that there was a time when he hadn't struggled with his words, when he hadn't felt useless, when he'd actually thought he could be a good-enough partner for Jemma. It felt like another lifetime, another Fitz.

Fitz knew things could never return to normal. He knew that he and Jemma would still probably continue to dance awkwardly around one another for a while. He knew that no matter what had happened today, no matter how much he wanted to believe he could work alongside her again, it would take a lot more to repair the damage between them.

But she was there, and he was with her, and she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder like she'd done hundreds of times before. And maybe it was because he was under a bright sky filled with shooting stars, but for just a moment he allowed himself to hope. For just a moment, the universe and the world and their lives didn't seem so bad.

He knew he should probably wake her. They'd been out in the cold for a while and the meteors had begun to fade with the rising moon. But he decided to stay for just a little longer. "Happy Christmas, Jemma," he whispered.

He hadn't expected her to hear him, since he'd thought she'd been asleep. And her reply was so faint in the first place that he was fairly sure he imagined it. But even though her eyes were closed, Fitz chose to believe that the words she breathed came from her lips and not his head.

"Happy Christmas, Fitz."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: With the exception of Simmons, everyone's Secret Santa was chosen via a random generator, because I thought it would be a fun challenge to figure out what everyone would get their partner. I suppose that's not really necessary information, but in case anyone was wondering.

Also, if anyone wants to know what the inscription on Simmons's mug says, let me know and I'll send you a photo. :) (NSFW)


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